Close Up: Christmas to New Year's
by Jolie
Summary: RENT fill-in story. Follows Mark through the days between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

**These characters are all Jonathan Larson's. Any comments would be greatly appreciated!**  
  
  
  
  
"I can't believe he actually padlocked the door."  
  
"I can. Bolted, plywood, _and_ padlocked."  
  
Mark rattled the door handle as if to confirm that it was really locked. Pulling his coat tighter around his body, he turned to Roger and Mimi. He had found them here a few minutes ago contemplating the locked door, indifferent and almost oblivious to the chaos that was going on around them.   
  
The police had finally managed to wrestle the crowd out of the lot, but the result was that the group just began an angry riot that spread from Avenue B up to Avenue E in a matter of minutes. Mark had been filming the rage and destruction, fascinated by the group mentality of the rioters, when the tape in his camera ran out. He was walking back to the loft when he spotted Mimi and Roger from down the street. He had paused, hesitant to disturb them. They were both leaning against the dark gray building talking quietly, as if they couldn't hear the yelling and shattering sounds carrying from the riot down the street. Roger was staring down at the small hands he held in his own, and Mark had seen something in his friend's face that had been missing for months. He had smiled and turned to sneak away when Roger looked up and saw him.   
  
"Mark! Come here, you're not going to believe this," Roger had called, unaware that Joanne had already explained the situation.  
  
"Well... what are we going to do?" Mark asked now.  
  
Roger had a tentatively possessive arm around Mimi's thin, shivering shoulders. She rubbed her hands together, looking around at the snow that was steadily falling from the sky and turning gray on the sidewalk.  
  
"What a fuck-up," she said. "I actually _paid_ my rent this month."  
  
Mark smiled as he took off his glasses to wipe the snow from the lenses. "Sorry about that."  
  
"It's cool. I have some friends who can take care of us until we get our damn door open again."  
  
Mark implicitly knew, watching the way that Mimi's arm wound around Roger, that 'us' did not include him. He sighed, trying to reconcile himself to the only course of action he had left.  
  
"I guess I'll go to Maureen's," he said. "I happen to know from experience that her couch is pretty comfortable."  
  
Roger smiled and punched his friend in the arm. "Have fun."  
  
"Better than sleeping on the street."  
  
"Keep telling yourself that, man."  
  


*  


  
Maureen was wiping tears from her eyes when she answered the door.  
  
"Hi," was her pathetic greeting. She gestured into her apartment. "I figured you'd be coming; I made the couch up for you."  
  
Mark stood in the doorway, taken aback. This is hardly what he had expected. Maureen was capable of producing the necessary amount of any given emotion when needed, but sincere tears from her were a true rarity. He had come prepared to impose on a cool, indifferent woman but instead found a considerate, tearful mess.  
  
"Maureen?" he said as she turned to walk into her apartment, his voice sounding pitifully pained even in his own ears.  
  
She turned back to face his wide eyes. Her lower lip trembled.  
  
"Joanne broke up with me," she said, dissolving into tears.  
  
She walked toward Mark, burying her face in her hands. He held his arms out in disbelief as Maureen crumbled against him, sobbing softly. Slowly, he let his arms close around her, trying to comfort her as best as he could without noticing how warm she was or how her hair smelled exactly the way he remembered. He shifted awkwardly to close the front door of her apartment and carefully led her to the couch where she cried against his chest. Mark stayed completely still and silent, still half-stunned and afraid that any movement would drive her away. Maureen was a physical person, but only on her own terms and rarely in an affectionate way. He couldn't remember the last time he had held her while she cried; she so hated to admit any weakness or vulnerability in herself.  
  
"Shh, Maureen," Mark finally said when she had seemed to calm a little. "Tell me what happened."  
  
That immediately broke the spell, and Maureen pulled away from him hastily. She stood and angrily swiped the tears from her eyes, leaving Mark on the couch with arms that felt suddenly empty, but relieved.  
  
"It was so stupid!" she growled, pacing across the room. "Melissa kissed me at dinner, and apparently Joanne saw it. It was totally innocent Mark, but she went off about how I was unfaithful and how she couldn't trust me or..."  
  
A tear squeezed out of Maureen's eyes. "Damnit!" She dropped abruptly into a chair, holding her head in her hands. "What the hell is wrong with me?"  
  
Mark leaned forward, meaning to push a stray lock of hair away from her face, but instead placed a hand on her knee. He had been on the other side of this game more times than he cared to remember, and at that moment all of his empathy was with Joanne. Maureen could be so cruel without even realizing it; part of him had never forgiven her for the offenses she had committed against him. He wondered if she even realized what she had done to Joanne. He wondered - and doubted - if she had ever been this upset over one of their numerous break-ups.   
  
"Maureen.." he said, still uncomfortable with the fragile, emotional side of this woman who had been so many different things to him. He was unsure of what he could say to her about something that he himself still resented.   
  
"She'll never change her mind about this," Maureen whispered from beneath a curtain of hair. "She's so damn stubborn; she's not like-"  
  
"Not like me," he interrupted, "who always came crawling back."  
  
Maureen looked up at him with tortured eyes. That, at least, made him feel a little better. "God - Mark - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."  
  
"It's okay," Mark replied with a slight smile. "I know it's the truth. I could never stay away from you, no matter how hard I tried."  
  
That was too close to the truth. He looked away hastily, before her eyes could meet his again.  
  
"Well, something tells me that Joanne won't have that problem," Maureen replied bitingly as she stood again, clamping down on her tears. "Do you, um, want some coffee? I can't believe that asshole locked up your building."  
  
"No thanks, I'm fine."  
  
Maureen started banging around her tiny kitchen, looking for coffee filters and trying to cover up the emotional outburst that she was beginning to feel ashamed about. She glanced over the counter that separated her living room from the kitchen to where Mark sat on the sofa, looking quietly around the room. It surprised her to realize just how worn and tired he looked.   
  
"Where's Roger?" she asked. His expression was tired too, but she was relieved to find the familiar smile in his eyes when he turned to look at her. If things were so bad that Mark was visibly depressed, there was no hope for any of them.  
  
"He and Mimi are staying with a friend of hers until... well, until I don't know what."  
  
"Until Benny cuts the crap and let's you back into your apartment," she said brusquely, walking back into the living room. "Can I take your coat? My heat's actually working."  
  
Mark smiled, but his hands fidgeted. The tension in the room, which had been holding Mark paralyzed, finally reached Maureen who rarely felt an uncomfortable emotion. She had a skin thick enough to ignore or even fail to notice anything unpleasant to her, but the weight of the air in her tiny apartment was suddenly unmistakable.   
  
When Maureen had moved out of the loft and into her own place, Mark had practically followed her. He spent most nights there when they weren't fighting - holding her gently while she slept, as if he feared she would break - and slept many nights on the couch whenever they were. She found it strange that she would feel uncomfortable with him, of all people; he knew her better than anyone else had in a long time. And after all, she had seen Mark every week in the lot since their break-up when he was setting up for her shows. She had never felt a moment of discomfort then. Maybe it was because they were here, in her apartment, where they had shared so many things and where she had a decided advantage. He was out of his element, and he suddenly looked very small.   
  
Was this how Mark always felt around her now? The thought had never occurred to her before. Their relationship had always been so uneven in so many ways. Mark was constant and committed, whereas Maureen's only constancy came in the fact that she consistently cheated. She could never say the word 'love', but his every look and action proved it. When she looked at him, she remembered the way that his warmth and quiet kind of intensity used to fascinate her. She remembered how he could always find a reason to smile even when he was at his most frustrated, the way it always made him feel guilty whenever she was bitchy to a bad waitress, or how they used to break out into song and dance on the street just to see what kind of looks they would get. But these memories didn't stir much more than warm emotions for the Mark that had been her friend and ally against the world, and because of that she had never considered that Mark might still be in love with her. She had never considered anything.  
  
Maureen suddenly realized how much it must have taken for him to come here.  
  
Mark stood, unaware of Maureen's thoughts, and walked toward a closet, unwinding his scarf from his neck slowly. With his back toward her, he said in a deliberate voice, "You know, I'd be willing to bet that Joanne can't stay away from you either. I know she's crazy about you."  
  
_My God! _ He was even trying to comfort her over the end of a relationship that had started out as one of her many affairs.   
  
She was a bitch.  
  
Mark hung his coat on a hanger and placed his camera on a high shelf in the closet, closing the door softly and turning to look at Maureen. His expression was the same as it had ever been: honest and a little hopeful despite anything. But the eyes had changed. She used to know exactly how much he loved her, just by the look in his eyes. He was always silently inviting her to trust him and to love him. Those were both things she had never been able to fully do, and he had - strangely - never reproached her for it. He had just waited patiently for the day when she would, always seeming to believe that it would come. But now there was a wall that held him back from her, and she knew that she had lost him and that love forever.  
  
Maureen sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted by the weight of that night's activities.   
  
"I'm going to bed," she said sadly. "It's been a long night. Is there anything I can get you?"  
  
He smiled, walking toward her. "I know my way around." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead chastely. "Goodnight Maureen."  
  
Feeling sad and confused and completely out of control, Maureen tried to smile for him and walked down the small hallway to her bedroom. She glanced back at Mark, who was unfolding the blanket she had left at the end of the sofa, before closing her door and falling into a troubled sleep.  
  


*  


  
Mark lay awake long after the sliver of light beneath Maureen's door had disappeared. So what if he had never stopped loving her? It was hardly a secret, and it certainly didn't change anything. Joanne would forgive her, or Maureen would move on; he knew the scenario better than anyone. Besides, he wasn't an idiot; he knew their break-up was for the best, that it had always been inevitable, and that he would get over it. In most ways he already had, but knowing that she was on the other side of that wall sleeping in the bed where he used to lay beside her made him crazy.   
  
_Damn it!_  
  
Mark yanked the thick blue blanket off and sat up, the voices inside of his head making him suddenly restless.  
  
_"This isn't working!"  
  
"Of course it isn't working! How could it with you doing your best to ruin anything we might have?"_  
  
Mark stood and walked to the kitchen, quietly pouring himself a glass of water. He leaned against the countertop, looking at the little flowers on Maureen's windowsill drowning in light from the street lamps outside. He remembered how excited she had been when she had finally saved enough money for her own apartment. It was the first time she could afford to live on her own since she moved to New York City from the small Pennsylvania farm town she had grown up in. When Mark had met her, she was with a much older cousin who talked too little and smoked too much. Their instant and unlikely attraction developed quickly, and Mark remembered with embarrassed hindsight how he had felt like a typical gallant knight, melodramatically saving her from the smoke-breathing dragon and whisking her off to his castle on the corner of Avenue B to live happily ever after. It was a good plan, but he had faltered in the execution.  
  
No one was ever sure of exactly how many people were living in the loft, between Benny's numerous girlfriends and various friends that needed a temporary bed in bad times. There always seemed to be a little room for one more though. Makeshift walls and beds were constructed in the studio when the need arose, and a turbulent - but basically happy - kind of family developed for a short time. Everyone found something there that they needed. Mark was at his most creative and productive then, and the films he was able to produce excited him. He felt like he belonged somewhere for the first time in a long time.  
  
But everything began to fall apart so quickly that none of them was able to prepare for it. Benny became more and more obsessed with money; he was consumed by the idea of escaping from 'bohemian hell' to make it big. It changed him, and by the time he married Allison, most of the people in the loft were glad to see him go. Mark and Maureen fought almost constantly. Their relationship became a dizzying roller-coaster ride of extreme highs and lows. His need to detach and her inability to trust pushed them farther and farther apart. She moved out, and Mark spent more time at her apartment than in the loft, trying to save a relationship that he wasn't always sure was worth saving. Roger's occasional drug use escalated into a full-blown addiction that affected every aspect of his life and the lives of everyone else. April was cheating. Collins, the happy, laid back peacemaker, couldn't take the turmoil and moved out.   
  
_"How could you do this?"  
  
"How can you ask me that!"_  
  
After a few months Mark, Roger, and April were the only three left in the loft. Mark was at Maureen's whenever their off-again-on-again relationship was on again, and one of those times happened to be the night that April took a razor to her wrists. Mark wasn't there, and though he knew it probably wouldn't have changed anything, he had never forgiven himself for it. Marcy, a friend who lived in the loft below theirs, ran to Maureen's apartment and banged on the door until she woke them up. Mark could still remember what Marcy was wearing when he stumbled drowsily to the door. She was soaked from the rain that was pouring outside, and even in that moment of crisis the filmmaker in him could appreciate the divine dramatic gesture.   
  
Mark and Maureen rushed breathlessly into the emergency room of the hospital only to find Roger slumped in a plastic waiting room chair in a state of numbed shock. The doctors had pronounced April dead-on-arrival only minutes before. Roger had never really spoken after that, not really, and Mark would have given anything to have been able to be there for him.  
  
Mark refilled his glass of water and walked over to the windowsill. Maureen's little flowers were drooping and the edges of their red petals were beginning to turn brown. She had obviously neglected to water them for some time. He carefully poured water into their individual pots, watching the way the crumbling soil greedily sucked up the moisture.   
  
_"You don't know how hard this has been for me-"  
  
"You're right, I don't know, because you never tell me!"_  
  
Mark sighed. He turned the empty cup upside down beside the sink and went back to lay down on the couch.  
  
_"I love you."  
  
"I know.. but it's just not enough anymore."_  
  
Eventually, he fell asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

A devilish ray of light peeked through the crack Maureen had left between the curtains of her bedroom window and fell across her face. She moaned and rolled over, looking for a position that would let her escape the light and fall back to sleep. She lazily opened her eyes and found Mark leaning against her doorway, a small smile on his face.  
  
"Mark, you scared me," she mumbled. "I'd forgotten you were here."  
  
"I'm sorry," he replied softly, moving to sit on the edge of her bed . "I just wanted to say Merry Christmas."  
  
She smiled and rubbed her eyes, beginning to wake up. "It is Christmas isn't it? I guess I should wish you a happy Chanukah."   
  
"I guess you should. Now, promise me you won't get excited."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's no big deal," he cautioned. "I just saw it and thought of you."  
  
Mark pulled out the little box he had been hiding behind his back and held it out to her. Her eyes widened with surprise and the delight of a child, and he smiled when she promptly snatched it from his hands. Of course, when he had bought it, he had envisioned waking up beside her and slipping it into her hands, but when he discovered it in his coat pocket he figured he might as well give it to her anyway.  
  
She sat up and tore into the wrapping paper hastily. After she threw off the lid, Maureen lifted the small black and silver butterfly on it's delicate chain out with trembling hands. He watched in genuine surprise as her eyes filled with tears.  
  
"God, Mark..."  
  
He knew the moment he saw it in the store window that it belonged around her neck. Maureen's mother had died of cancer when she was fourteen, and Maureen had always insisted that she was a butterfly, beautiful and free. Whenever she saw a butterfly in the park or on television, she would wave to it and say "Hi Mom!" Mark knew that they had been close, though Maureen rarely talked about her mother.   
  
"I can't believe you did this," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "It's beautiful, thank you."  
  
She pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. She blinked back tears, mentally chastising herself for being so emotional of late, and laughed softly.  
  
"I didn't get you anything," she said, pulling away and looking down at the necklace again.  
  
He smiled. "That's alright. I don't think it's customary to exchange gifts with your ex."  
  
Her expression clouded for a moment, but then she looked up and smiled.   
  
"Would you.. fasten it for me?" she said, holding up the necklace. "I'm such a klutz."  
  
"Sure."  
  
He took the necklace, and she gathered her hair together. He leaned forward to fasten the clasp around her neck, struggling for a few seconds with the small hook. When it came together he glanced up at her face, surprised to realize how close it was to his own and even more surprised to find her eyes fixed on him. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving, until Maureen leaned down and pressed her lips against his.   
  
Her kiss was sincere and clingy, maybe even a little desperate. Mark was too surprised at first to react, but after a moment he twined his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer, never wanting to let her go again. He had forgotten how warm she was and how she could make him feel so safe and so exposed at the same time. One of her hands lingered around his neck and jaw while the other rested on his chest, where she could feel his heart racing.   
  
"Stay with me Mark," she whispered as she began to pull him tighter against her, leaning back onto the bed.   
  
That broke the spell; speaking always seemed to be the downfall of their relationship. Mark suddenly realized what was going on. With great effort he pulled away from Maureen and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He rested his head in his hands and exhaled slowly.   
  
"Damnit, Maureen," he whispered, his eyes closed.  
  
She swallowed difficultly and held a hand to her lips. Sitting up, she leaned forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.  
  
"Please, don't touch me right now," he said. He turned to look at her. "I can't keep doing this. I can't just let you kiss me and pretend that everything is alright. I've done it too many times."  
  
"Mark--"  
  
"No! What about Joanne? Hell Maureen, I know that loyalty has never been your strong suit, but..."  
  
"That's so unfair," she whispered. "How can you say that?"  
  
"How can you use me like this? I'm sorry that you're feeling lonely and vulnerable right now, but just because I'm still in love with you doesn't--"  
  
He stopped short, realizing what he had said. He knew that she had already known it, but saying the words out loud made it too real. They both stared at each other, neither knowing what to say or do that could bridge the gap between them.  
  
Mark finally turned away, seeing no other alternative and realizing that the longer she stared at him the more angry he became.   
  
"I have to go," he said. "Merry Christmas."  
  
He turned to leave, and Maureen jumped out of bed to follow him after a second of thought. He was in the living room, pulling his sweater over his head and bending down to tie his shoe laces.   
  
"Mark, you can't just leave.. where will you go?"  
  
"I don't know," he said, grabbing his coat and his camera from the closet, "but I can't stay here."  
  
He turned involuntarily to look at her and softened somewhat at her hurt expression. She really couldn't help what she did sometimes.   
  
"I'll be fine," he said quietly. "Try to remember to water your plants."  
  
He hesitated a moment before walking toward her, not quite trusting himself to keep   
his resolve with her looking as vulnerable and beautiful as she did. She stared up at him wide-eyed as he approached and closed her eyes when he leaned forward shakily to kiss her forehead. He rested his brow against hers for a long moment, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing that this was the last goodbye. When she moved to put her arms around him, he pulled away.  
  
"Goodbye Maureen," he said, and closed the door behind him as he left.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Mark banged on the door of his building with his fists, realizing its futility but idly hoping that it might help something.   
  
"Damnit!" he cried, rattling the door handle violently. He slowly stopped until his head came to rest against the cold metal door. He sighed difficultly.   
  
_God, what a day_, Mark thought as he turned his back against the door and slid into a sitting position on the sidewalk laced with dingy snow.   
  
He wanted to cry or scream or punch something, but all he did was sit there with his hands clasped over his head, staring at the snow. There were still patches where it was white, where it hadn't yet been stepped on, but most of it had been trampled brown and was slowly melting on the fringes of the sidewalk. A small line of ants was making its way toward the remnants of a hot dog bun by a lamppost, and an occasional pair of feet threatened their busy, happy existence.  
  
What a disaster this day had been. He shouldn't have gone to Maureen's. He had known it too, but for some reason he ignored his own intuition. Maybe he just needed to see what would happen. Well, now he knew and was right back where he had started. Only this time he was alone.  
  
Mark slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off, making sure to step carefully over the ants as he began to walk. The lot was just around the corner, but all of its inhabitants were gone. There was barbed wire along the fence and a sign that warned trespassers that they would be prosecuted. Mark shook his head sadly. These people had nowhere else to go. Benny wasn't a bad person, his motives were genuinely good, but last night had gotten completely out of control. The evidence of the riot was still present everywhere. Broken glass, remnants of smoldering fires, and trash littered the lot and the sidewalk of Avenue B, the only remaining testaments to the chaos of the previous night.   
  
_Except for my film.  
_  
Mark picked up a piece of paper that had been blown against the fence. It was one of Maureen's fliers. He let it flutter back down to the street and glanced over the lot once more. Mark wondered where everyone had gone. He wondered where he would go.  
  
Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, Mark dug into his pockets and was surprised to find a few crumpled bills in them.   
  
"Score," he mumbled, studying the money in his open palm. He could get a cup of coffee, and maybe a candy bar or something.   
  
Without realizing that he had made the decision, Mark began to walk. A few blocks later he found himself standing in front of the Life Café, staring in at the small restaurant through a window. He knew now what he was doing, why he had come here, but he didn't even have to open the door to know that being in that café would not change anything. Everything had come together for him there last night, but it had nothing to do with the location. Friendship and belonging didn't come from the scenery. It was just a goddamn room, with tables and chairs and fading paint just like any other restaurant. He was inexplicably angry at the thought, and in that moment all he wanted to do was throw one of those goddamn chairs through the fucking window.   
  
Instead, he began to walk as quickly as he could. He stalked away from the Life Cafe, his anger warming him in the face of the bitter wind. The farther he got, however, the more his heated resentment cooled to a more familiar emotion that left him freezing on the sidewalk. He grasped for the anger, trying to hold onto it by thinking of Maureen and his father and everyone else who had ever hurt him, but it was gone. Loneliness crushed down on him and forced him into a park bench, hunched beneath its suffocating weight.   
  
He was alone. Totally alone.  
  
He felt forgotten. He knew that he hadn't been, not completely, but he felt it nonetheless. Roger and Mimi were together, wherever they were, and Collins was with Angel. Maureen didn't need anyone, least of all him; she was so goddamn self-sufficient. No one knew or cared where he was. They all had each other.  
  
More painful was the admission that this loneliness wasn't just physical. It didn't have anything to do with the geography, the fact that he was locked out of his building and didn't know where his friends were. He was just as alone when Roger was sitting five feet away struggling with chords or when Maureen was kissing him and asking him to stay with her. All he wanted in the world was for someone to love him, to understand him, but no one even knew who he was.  
  
He didn't know who he was.  
  
No, that was wrong. He knew who he was, but he hadn't yet figured out how to how to be that person. He felt like he was two different people now: the easygoing, unaffected Mark who was basically happy and fun-loving and the quiet, thinking Mark who took everything to heart and clung to what he trusted. Both of these people were inside of him, and he hadn't been able to integrate them so that he could just be himself. He didn't even know when this split had happened or which of these two people he was really supposed to be. One had developed to protect the other, but which one?  
  
Sometimes he thought he knew, it became clearer. When Maureen called him to come fix her equipment or when Roger clung to his hand after waking up in the hospital, Mark knew exactly what his role was. That's what really hurt the most now. He knew he had been left behind because no one needed him at their side. He had almost always known that was the case with Maureen, though he had tried to deny it for a long time. The truth was, however, that no matter how much he loved her he could never make her love him back. She was too afraid to trust people, to really let them in. In some respects he was the same way, and it had always kept them apart.   
  
Roger used to need him, and while Mark knew that Roger would never consciously abandon him, Roger was single-sighted. He completely devoted himself to whatever was important to him in that moment and forgot everything else. For a year, Mark had been the only real person in Roger's life. He had basically never left his side while he was struggling through his withdrawal from heroin and the world. But now Roger had Mimi, and Mark already felt the chill of fading into the background. It had been the same way in the past, with April and the band and the drugs. Mark would go from being everything to Roger to being someone who was always just there, loved but easily overlooked.   
  
Who was he without these people? What would he do if they didn't need him anymore, if he found out they never really had? This loneliness had been thrust on him suddenly, and he realized that he wasn't ready to be alone. He was terrified that he would feel like this forever, and he didn't know how to stop that from happening, or even if he could.  
  
Maybe it was minutes, or maybe hours, that passed with Mark sitting motionless on that bench. Sometimes he thought and at other times he just sat. Occasionally he would move to swipe at a tear or clench his fists in frustration. Orange street lamps flickered on one by one as the sky began to darken and the temperature began to drop. Mark finally looked up and took in his surroundings. There was nothing for him to do but try to find a place to sleep for the night. In the morning he would figure out what to do. Things always looked better in the morning.   
  
Mark stood, stretching his tired muscles and pulling his coat tighter around his body. Damn, it was cold. The loft was a few blocks away, and not knowing where else to go, he began walking toward it slowly. His head was down, and so he didn't notice her until it was almost too late. When he looked up and saw Maureen, his immediate reaction was to duck back, keeping the edge of a building between them. He leaned over so that he could see her, suddenly becoming aware of his own heart beat.  
  
God, she was beautiful. She had her red wool coat pulled tightly around her body, partly to protect herself from the biting cold and partly because she knew it looked good that way. Her hair was loose, and she looked like she had been crying. Maybe it was just the light, but he hoped she had been crying. He knew it was cruel, but he wanted her to be as miserable as he had been that day.  
  
She rattled the door handle of the building, just as he had done. She looked frustrated when it didn't open, though the padlock must have led her to expect that. Why had she come looking for him? Did she want to apologize? Was she angry, or was she worried about him? Did she want to kiss him again?   
  
There was one part of him that desperately wanted to step out onto the street and call her name.  
  
_"Maureen! I'm here. I love you."_  
  
Then she would turn around and sigh with relief before throwing herself into his arms and telling him in a voice that was half angry and half overjoyed that he could never leave her again.  
  
_Nice screenplay, Mark_, he thought.  
  
In reality, talking to her would probably only make things worse. She would make him come back to her apartment, because as heartless as she could be sometimes she would never let him sleep on the street. And they would fight again. He'd say something nasty or she would do something cruel, and they wouldn't even be able to salvage a friendship after the passionate disaster that had been their relationship. Or she would kiss him again, and he'd fall head over heels one more time.  
  
_Would that be so bad? This is your chance to try to open up to someone Mark, to let someone really get to know you. Go talk to her!  
_  
It wouldn't work though; he knew it wouldn't. He loved Maureen, but he knew how she operated. If they did get back together, Mark would grow used to needing her again and she would leave. He couldn't take it another time. Once, shame on her. Four or five times, shame on him. Besides, he knew they were better apart. They had never been a very good couple to begin with, and most of Mark was ready to move on. He loved her, but he knew she was not what he needed.   
  
He just didn't want to be alone.  
  
He continued to watch her as she glanced up and down the street, checked the lot, and called his name a few times. The sight of the lot made her angry; she kicked the fence in frustration and muttered darkly under her breath. He wanted to sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around her, maybe kiss her so that she wouldn't be able to say anything. But instead, he watched her walk away and disappear down the street.   
  
  
  
  
**I shouldn't try to rewrite things while I'm half asleep. I changed most of Mark's thoughts, and I'm not yet sure if they work. So this might all be different tomorrow! More coming soon...**


	4. Chapter 4

Mark sat up the next morning with a groan.   
  
_Well, there's one thing I know. Roger was **wrong**, sleeping at Maureen's was definitely better than sleeping on the street._  
  
Of course, no other homeless people had tried to come on to him as of yet. However, someone had put a blanket around his shoulders while he slept. He had stayed awake most of the night, but sometime before the sun came up he had been unable to keep his eyes open anymore and had fallen asleep for an hour or so. When he woke up he found a thick gray blanket tucked around him, carefully concealing the camera that he clutched to his chest and protecting him just enough from the numbing cold. Mark had fingered the blanket when he woke up, feeling more touched by the simple gesture than he had felt in a long time. Sometimes it was hard to believe that someone in this city could still be so kind.   
  
Now he was faced with a new dilemma. He couldn't stay on the street again; he refused. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake two nights in a row. He would either have to find Roger or go to a homeless shelter. Hell, he would get himself arrested before he would spend another night on the sidewalk. He'd even go to Maureen's.  
  
"Mark?"  
  
A voice interrupted Mark's sleepy musings and halfhearted efforts to regain feeling in his legs. He looked up drowsily to find Collins and Angel, arm in arm and in mid-stride, staring down at him in shock.   
  
"Oh, uh.. hey guys," Mark stammered, struggling to his feet.  
  
Collins grabbed his arm and helped him up, concern immediately evident in his face.   
  
"Are you okay man? Don't tell me you slept on the street?"  
  
"I'm fine," Mark insisted, straightening his coat on his shoulders. "And... well, yeah, I did. It's a really long story."  
  
Mark could see the questions on Collins lips, but Angel silently laid a hand on his arm. Collins turned to look at her, but her eyes were on Mark's face. She looked at him for a long moment, and Mark had the feeling that she already knew what had happened.  
  
"We were just on our way to breakfast," she said. "Come with us."   
  
Mark wanted more than anything to go with Angel and Collins. Collins' warm, unconditional friendship and Angel's understanding nature were exactly what he needed to get himself back together after last night's emotional meltdown. But everything that had happened since Christmas Eve had made him a little fragile and more than a little insecure. It was so strange. That night had been one of the best of his recent life, and for no real reason other than that he felt like he belonged to a group that knew and cared for him. The day after he was more depressed than he had been since high school, and all because he felt the complete absence of what he had been thriving on the night before.   
  
"Well, I.. wouldn't want to-"  
  
"Oh, don't be silly," Angel said, hooking her other arm with his. "You must be starving, and you and I didn't get to talk enough last night."  
  
Mark smiled. "Thanks."  
  
They began to walk away arm in arm until Mark stopped abruptly.  
  
"Wait, just a second," he said and trotted back to where the blanket the stranger had left him lay on the street. He picked it up and folded it carefully before catching up to Collins and Angel, who were watching him curiously. He only smiled and they continued to walk. When Mark saw a homeless woman sitting on the sidewalk with only a piece of a cardboard box protecting her from the wind, he bent down and silently handed her the blanket before walking away.  
  


*  


  
Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Mark could feel his feet again and had gotten a handle on his renegade emotions. The bitter tragedy of last night had been completely calmed and pushed away by Collins and Angel's company. Mark couldn't feel lonely with them; they both cared too much.  
  
They had only just met last night, but Mark had never seen two people who seemed so completely in love before. It was really astounding, and he found it almost comforting. His parents hadn't loved each other like that; Roger and April hadn't either. Seeing the way that Angel and Collins instinctively cared for each other and remembering the stranger who had given him the blanket last night had completely renewed his faith in the human heart.   
  
The three of them spent the rest of the day together doing nothing special, but the nothingness healed Mark. He hadn't realized before just how deeply he had missed Collins while he was away.   
  
Mark and Collins had met soon after Mark graduated from Brown and moved to New York. He was really the first friend Mark made here. He had been sitting outside a café drinking a cup coffee when Collins came tearing around a street corner and ducked into an alleyway. Two Chinese men and a police officer soon followed, and they glanced up and down the street feverishly. They two Chinese men babbled wildly, pointing and gesturing with faces red from exertion. The police officer tried to quiet them as he approached Mark, obviously winded from the chase. He had asked Mark if he had seen a man run by, and Mark automatically pointed him in the wrong direction without realizing exactly why he had done it. When they were gone, Collins emerged from the alley and thanked him as he clapped Mark on the shoulder with his free hand. In the other he held a pair of wire cutters.   
  
The friendship had been instantaneous, and they lived together for several years before Collins accepted a teaching position at MIT in 1994. Of all of his friends, Mark felt like he had more in common with Collins than anyone else. They used to stay up until all hours of the night, talking about Nietzsche or films or debating whether a society based on Randian philosophy could ever work or not. They came from similar backgrounds and were both rather quiet people, intellectuals and natural caretakers. Mark had sorely missed Collins unconditional support and understanding, especially when Roger was diagnosed.   
  
So when Angel insisted that Mark stay with her until Benny reopened their building, Mark agreed and was wholly grateful.   
  
"Wait," Mark said as Angel unlocked the door to her apartment. "You and Mimi already know each other?"  
  
"Yeah, we've been friends for years," she replied, opening the door. "Just make yourself at home!"  
  
Mark smiled, entranced, as he stepped into Angel's apartment. It was tiny but very warm. There were flowers everywhere, growing in painted pots on the windowsill and sitting in vases and glasses of water. None of them were dying from neglect like Maureen's little garden; they were all obviously well-taken care of. The room was alive with them. Books and photographs spilled from shelves to inhabit tables and corners on the floor. There wasn't nearly enough room, but everything seemed to have its place. There was artwork all over the walls, and the vibrant reds and blues and greens joined the flowers in creating a strange, beautiful little world. It was perfect that Angel should live here.  
  
Her hands rested lightly on Mark's shoulders as she told him to take off his coat. She patted his shoulder for a second before turning to hang Mark's coat and scarf in the closet.   
  
"Thank you Angel," he murmured. He carefully placed his camera on a table.  
  
"You're welcome, honey," she said softly, kissing his cheek. Mark knew implicitly that she understood exactly what he had wanted to say.  
  
"But yeah," she said, picking up the thread of the conversation again as she ushered Collins and Mark to the small sitting area that she called her living room. "I met Mimi when she was just a kid. She was fifteen and had been living here for a few weeks when she tried to help me out with someone I was having a little disagreement with. She's a sweet girl. Tough too, but I sort of took her under my wing."  
  
"Do you know where she's staying?" Mark asked. He needed to know where Roger was. He missed him already and was an admitted worrier. Taking care of Roger had been his responsibility for the last year, and old habits die hard.  
  
"Sure. She called me last night to let me know. They're staying with our friend Kristin," Angel said.  
  
"Good," Mark murmured.  
  
"Well kids, I'm hungry," Collins said, standing. "What sounds good to everybody?"  
  
Angel followed Collins to the door, and Mark stayed on the couch watching them. Collins shouldered into his new jacket, and Angel took his hands in hers. They just stared at each other silently for a long moment before murmuring something to the other. Collins leaned down to kiss Angel softly, and Mark watched with a smile. He felt like he hadn't stopped smiling all day.  
  
When Collins was gone, Angel turned back to him with a grin and a sort of glow in her face. She sat in a chair opposite Mark and took his hands in her own. Most of Mark had never really learned how to be touched, but for whatever reason it was easy and natural with Angel.  
  
"You have some great friends," she said.  
  
Mark laughed. "Yeah, I know."  
  
"Mimi told me that Roger was looking for you," she continued.  
  
Mark nodded, understanding what must have happened. Before they had parted on Christmas Eve, Roger had agreed to call him at Maureen's and let him know where he was staying. Roger must have found out from Maureen that he had left.  
  
"He was?" Mark asked. The fact that Roger cared enough to look for him made his chest seem to swell.  
  
She smiled. "You know, it only took me a minute to realize how much he loves you. You do know that, don't you Mark?"  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"Good, don't ever forget it," she said, her felty brown eyes more knowledgeable than they should have been. Somehow Angel had looked into his soul and seen everything that was there, all that loneliness and hurt and insecurity that he had been feeling was laying exposed in front of her. It was the most vulnerable he had ever felt, but at the same time he knew his feelings were safe with her. It was strange that he could trust someone so fully after so little time.   
  
"Do you want to tell me what happened with Maureen?"  
  
_Yes, I do. I so want to connect with you; I don't want to be alone back here forever._  
  
Mark only nodded. "Do you know about me and Maureen?"  
  
"Only that you two broke up a few weeks ago and that she's with Joanne now."  
  
Mark began to relate to Angel what had happened at Maureen's. At some point she moved to sit beside Mark on the couch and put her arm around his shoulders. Mark leaned back into her, feeling warmer and safer than he had felt in a long time as he explained Maureen's break up with Joanne, the flowers, the way that Maureen had kissed him and asked him to stay, and the way that he had walked out. When he was through, they just sat there for a long time, not saying anything. Mark closed his eyes. He could almost feel the love and strength flowing from Angel into himself. For a brief moment, he felt confused, the line between fantasy and reality blurring in his head. Angel really was an angel, sent down from God - whatever that was - to help his struggling little family. Mark hadn't prayed since he was a small child, but in that moment - with Angel's arms around him and all seeming right in the world despite everything - he sent his heartfelt thanks to heaven.   
  
"Wow," he whispered, opening his eyes.  
  
"Yeah," she said softly. She kissed Mark on the cheek and stood. This time, instead of emptying, Mark kept the warmth and reassurance she had given him.  
  
"We need to find you some blankets," she said, turning to search through the closet. "You can stay here as long as you need to. I really love having people around." She turned to look at Mark. "You're going to be okay, you know that?"  
  
He smiled again. "Yeah."  
  
"To risk sounding like a greeting card, everything will work out just like it's supposed to. It always does. Just wait, Benny will let you back into your building, Mimi will positively force Roger into happiness again, Maureen will become a star, and you will make beautiful films and fall madly in love with the perfect person."  
  
"Like you have."  
  
She smiled devilishly and plopped back into a chair near Mark. "He is perfect, isn't he?"   
  
Mark wished that he had his camera out then, wished he could capture this love on film. The look in Angel's eyes was positively radiant, and it should never, ever be lost.   
  
"I've never seen love like what you two seem to have," Mark said. "It's so... pure. It's beautiful to watch."  
  
"You'll have this Mark," she said, laying a hand on his knee. "I can see it. It might take awhile, but when it happens for you it will _happen_."  
  
"I don't know," he said with a smile. Suddenly nothing seemed to be as serious or as painful as it had been before. "I'm pretty stupid about girls."  
  
"That's what makes you so endearing."  
  
"Why do I feel like you know me so well?" he asked suddenly, sitting up. "Like there's nothing I could hide from you, even if I wanted to?"  
  
"I don't know," she said. "Is that okay with you?"  
  
"It's wonderful!" he burst involuntarily. "I barely even know you Angel, but I think I must love you already."  
  
Surprised with his own candor, Mark simply waited for her response, not entirely sure what it would be. She stood and drew him into a hug, gently running her hands over his shoulders.  
  
"I think I love you too Mark," she said. "I don't know how anyone could help it."   
  
It was then that Collins returned with Chinese food and a rental video in tow. The three of them moved to Angel's bedroom, which was just as tiny and charming as the rest of the apartment. Collins sat on the bed and Mark settled himself into a chair as Angel slipped the video into the VCR. Noting Mark's surprised look, she shrugged.  
  
"I had a good week a few months ago, and I'm a movie junkie," she said.  
  
The movie was good, some foreign film Mark had never even heard of. He tried to watch it, to admire the interesting camera work and visual symbolism, but his eyes kept drifting back to Collins and Angel. They were cuddled up together on Angel's bed, her head resting on his chest and his fingers twined with hers. Mark smiled and snuck out of the room just long enough to retrieve his camera. All of the footage he had filmed in the last few months had been flat and dead, completely uninspired, but he knew already that this wouldn't be. This would preserve one of the truest, purest things he had ever seen, and he knew it would be beautiful.   
  
After a few minutes he put the camera down and tried to turn his attention back to the movie, but he kept nodding off. He finally gave up the struggle and stood.  
  
"I'm exhausted guys, I'm going to go to bed," he said.  
  
Collins stood and embraced him. They talked quietly for a minute about how good it was to see the other and how much the other had been missed. They made plans for the next day.  
  
Angel stood as well and kissed Mark's cheeks before slipping something into his hand. He looked down. It was her address book.  
  
"Kristin Holden," she said softly. "Goodnight Mark. I'm glad we got to talk."  
  
"Me too," he said. "Thank you so much, for everything."  
  
"My pleasure," she said, returning to her position in Collins arms on the bed. "Sleep sweet honey!"  
  
"Love you, Mark."  
  
He smiled. "Love you guys too."  
  
Mark returned to the living room and fell onto the couch. What a day. He kicked off his shoes wearily and dropped his glasses onto a table before pulling a blanket up to his chin and falling immediately to sleep.  
  
***  
  
Basically, I started getting depressed because I was only writing and reading fics where Mark was miserable so I decided to write one where he gets to be happy for awhile. And if he was going to be happy, this would be the week I think. What can I say? I have a weakness for the guy; I like to see him smiling. :) More soon!  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Well, I'm not sure if I'm really ready to post this chapter, but tonight is one of the only nights that I'll have internet access for about two months, so I figured I'd put it up anyway. Should be mega-updates when I get back in late August from the summer camp I work at, if you guys haven't forgotten about me between now and then. Lots of new stuff that I've been working on as well. I'll still be able to get my e-mail for a while so don't hesitate ::ahem, Kait!:: to drop me a line. :) See you guys later! Write lots of m/r while I'm gone!! :)  
  
**   
  
Mark flipped to the H section of Angel's address book and quickly dialed Kristin Holden's number. The other end of the line rang three or four times before someone picked up.  
  
"Hello?" a female voice asked. The voice didn't have Mimi's distinctive Puerto Rican accent, so he assumed it was Kristin.  
  
"Hi," Mark said quietly. It was ten o'clock, but Angel and Collins still hadn't emerged from the bedroom. "Uh, is Roger there?"  
  
"Yeah, just a second."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Mark leaned back against the kitchen counter, stretching the red phone line toward him, and waited. He gazed out of the window idly, watching people walk down the sidewalk. The day had turned out to be beautiful. The snow had stopped and the sun was out.  
  
"Mark? Is that you?"  
  
Mark smiled at the concern evident in Roger's voice when he came on the line.   
  
"Yeah, it's me."  
  
"Where the hell are you? Why weren't you at Maureen's?"  
  
Mark frowned. "I'm at Angel's now. It's kind of a long story."  
  
"With Maureen it's always a long story," Roger said, a slight edge to his voice. Those two had always had their differences. Roger didn't know, but he had been one of the main reasons that Mark and Maureen had broken up. Or, at least, he had been one of the main excuses.   
  
"Do you want to meet me somewhere?" Roger continued. "Get some coffee or something?"  
  
"Yeah," Mark said with a smile. "Sounds good to me. Where are you?"  
  
"I'm right near the Life," he said, a suggestion in his tone. "Where are you?"  
  
"Close enough. I'll see you in a minute."  
  
"Bye Mark."  
  


*  


  
Mark was already seated when Roger walked in. He glanced around the café for a moment before spotting Mark at a table in a corner and sliding into the seat across from him.   
  
"Well, I guess I don't need to ask how you've been the last few days," Mark said.   
  
Roger looked... _alive_... in a way that he hadn't in a long time. He seemed lighter, younger. His eyes leveled on Mark with a smile, and there was a fire in them that had been too long absent.  
  
"What do you mean?" Roger asked with a barely concealed grin.  
  
"You know what I mean," Mark replied, sipping at his coffee. "So?"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"_So_?"  
  
"So it's been amazing. The most amazing three days of my life, as stupid as that sounds," Roger said, leaning forward in his chair. "Christ, I don't know how to describe it Mark. She's incredible."  
  
"Yeah, I thought so," Mark said softly, smiling. He knew if he tried to say anything else, anything more meaningful, he would stutter and fumble and it would all come out wrong.  
  
"So where have you been?" Roger asked, concern creeping back into his voice as he shifted the focus to his friend. "What happened with Maureen?"   
  
"It was insane. Roger, you don't know, this has been the craziest week." Mark paused. "Get your coffee."  
  
Roger nodded and walked to the counter. Mark watched after him, a kind of stillness settling over him. Watching Roger chat and laugh with Greg, the waiter, made him suddenly wish for his camera. Last night filming Angel and Collins had made him realize why every shot he had taken in the last few months had been so flat and colorless. He knew his craft, knew what angles to use and how to cut them together, but the mechanics of it weren't the problem. His scripts lacked something vital, something real, because they didn't come from what Mark knew best.   
  
This morning, though, he had watched the hours of spontaneous footage he had shot on Christmas Eve and it all shined. It was real. He had been able to capture these people, and they had made it real. He knew he could never lose them because of it; they would always exist there on those reels as vibrant and funny and angry as they had been in life. His work had always been the focus of his own life, but the focus of the work was now changing. He wanted to have this picture of Roger, happy and safe and in love. He didn't want to lose anything anymore.  
  
He should have picked up his camera before he left. With Roger here, the Life Café had become meaningful scenery again. Mark was relieved to find that he had no desire to throw a chair through the window. None of the hurt or anger would matter anymore once he had told it all to Roger because Roger would understand.  
  
"Okay," Roger said, returning to his seat and cupping his hands around the steaming mug. "So what happened?"  
  
"Well," Mark sighed. "I went to Maureen's, and she was crying when she answered the door."  
  
"Crying?" Roger's disbelief echoed his own.  
  
"Yeah," Mark said, frowning. "I don't know, apparently Joanne caught her kissing Melissa and broke up with her. She was such a mess; I can't even remember the last time I saw her cry like that. I guess it doesn't matter, we went to sleep pretty soon after that. The next morning, well... it was Christmas, so I-- "  
  
"Christ Mark," Roger interrupted with a groan. "You didn't give her the necklace, did you?"  
  
Mark smiled sheepishly and looked away. "Well, yeah, I did. I know! I know it was stupid, but it was just sitting there in my pocket and I..."  
  
"Just couldn't help it," Roger finished with a sad shake of his head, though his eyes were laughing. "So what did she say? Did she like it?"  
  
"Forget the necklace," Mark replied. "She kissed me."  
  
"_What?_"  
  
"She kissed me. God! it was bizarre. I mean, you don't know how many times I've wished that I could kiss her again, but when it was actually happening..." He struggled, words escaping him. "I don't know. She's so wrong for me in every possible way, but..."  
  
"You can't help still loving her."  
  
Mark looked up at Roger and saw the certainty in his eyes. Roger still managed to surprise him with his perceptiveness and understanding. He exhaled slowly and nodded.   
  
"Bitch," Roger said softly, acidly, suddenly showing his anger. "Manipulative, self-serving little bitch."  
  
"Roger," Mark said. "Please..."  
  
"It's true Mark! I can't believe she did that to you. _You_, of all people!"  
  
"I know, but don't call her that."   
  
They were quiet for a moment, Roger silently fuming over Maureen's ability to continue to hurt Mark without compunction and Mark sipping quietly at his coffee.   
  
"Mark..." Roger began, trying to place the words as best as he could. "You know.. I mean, you don't think-- "  
  
"That she still loves me?" he finished. "No. Believe it or not I'm not quite that naive. I realize that she just needed someone to make her feel like she was wanted, and I was the only person around. Actually, things were kind of back to normal there for a while."  
  
Roger pursed his lips, like he often did when he was thinking. "No, I think she really loved you. It got fucked up somewhere - and I'm not entirely sure that that wasn't partly my fault - but I think beneath all of her selfishness she did love you."  
  
Mark shook his head, suddenly sad again, looking at the table top.   
  
"I don't know," he said, the doubt in his voice tangible.  
  
"She did," Roger asserted, seeming to become more confident in the face of his friend's uncertainty. "And if she didn't, that just proves what a stupid, heartless bitch she really is."  
  
"Roger!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry..." he mumbled.  
  
They were silent again, but after a moment Mark chuckled.   
  
"Only I have the right to call her a bitch, okay?" he said. "Me and Joanne, and trust me, I've done it enough in my head the past couple of days for both of us."  
  
Roger smiled and conceded the point. At least Mark could still laugh about it; Mark could find a way to smile at almost anything.  
  
"What happened then?" he asked.  
  
"I pushed her away and walked out."  
  
"Good. You're worth more than that Mark."  
  
Mark's gaze drifted back down to the table. He traced his finger over the gold pattern on the Formica table top and tried to decide what he should say.  
  
"It's true," Roger assured him. "I hope you know it."   
  
But he could tell just by looking at his friend that he didn't. The uncertainty and   
hurt in Mark's frame was almost palpable, even with his telling eyes averted. Roger paused a long moment before laying his hand over the filmmakers. Mark looked up at him in surprise.  
  
"I missed you," Roger said seriously.   
  
Mark laughed, partly to cover the depth of his response to Roger's words and partly because the melodrama of the situation was not lost on him. "It's only been three days Roger."  
  
"That's not what I meant." Roger smiled, but the humor drained away as he said the words he had been wanting to say all week. "I meant that I've missed you this whole time. This entire year... Christ, I was so wrapped up in myself that I barely even saw you, even though you were there with me the entire time. I'm... really sorry."  
  
"God, Roger, don't be--" Mark began to reply.  
  
"No Mark, I was a shitty friend to you and I apologize," he continued. "Hell, you cared about me more than anyone else ever has my entire life, and I know..." Roger sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair, frustrated because the words wouldn't come out the way he wanted them to. "I know I've never really told you this, but... you are so important to me Mark. I know I wouldn't have made it through this year without you."  
  
Roger waited for his friend's response, but Mark was silent, spinning his coffee mug in tight circles on the surface of the table absently. He seemed to be thinking, and Roger saw him bite his lower lip, a nervous habit of his.  
  
"Come on," Mark finally said, his tone and expression inscrutable. "Let's get out of here."   
  
Unsure of what was going through Mark's head, Roger stood with him. As they left the café and began to walk down the sidewalk, still with no response from Mark, Roger began to grow worried. Why did he have to say those things? Mark had already known them anyway. Had he just suceeded in upseting him somehow?  
  
"Mark.." he began hesitantly. "I--"  
  
"Shut up Roger," Mark laughed suddenly and pulled his friend into a hug. Roger could have no idea of the effect of his clumsy, sincere confession. Mark felt a surge of joy and relief course through him. Roger had made it. He was clean and out of the loft and in love, and he still wanted Mark with him. Roger pulled him surprisingly close, a crooked smile on his lips. If their relationship hadn't already been cemented as one of the most important of their lives, it was fully at that moment.  
  
They pulled away from each other and continued to walk down the street, neither acknowledging what had just happened because they knew there was no need.   
  
"So wait," Roger finally said as a question that had been in the back of his mind earlier returned. "How did you find Collins and Angel after you left Maureen's?"  
  
"Well, actually," Mark said, "they found me."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"I didn't have anywhere to go." Mark looked up at Roger, finding his friend's eyes confused. "I didn't know where you were, or where Collins was. I ended up, um, spending the night on the street down by the park."  
  
"Shit, are you joking?" Rogers eyes were wide, disbelieving.  
  
"No," Mark laughed. "It was a good learning experience, really. From an artistic standpoint especially, it gave me--"  
  
"Christ, Mark," Roger said stopping, obviously distressed. "I don't believe it. While I was warm and safe, celebrating Christmas with Mimi, you were out here freezing to death. Alone. Damnit, I should never have let you go to Maureen's; I should have asked you to come with us. I didn't even _ask_..."  
  
"Roger," Mark said, laying his hands on his shoulders to get his attention. "It's okay, really. I'm fine, and you had no way of knowing what would happen. Collins and Angel found me the next morning, and I've been staying at Angel's since. Everything's okay."  
  
"How can you still want me as a friend?" Roger asked quietly.   
  
Mark sighed, his sarcastic comment stuck in his throat when he realized the graveness in the musician's face.   
  
"The truth is... well, you're the best friend I've ever had," he said. "And I can't imagine what life would be like if I didn't have to put up with your shit."  
  
"I'm serious Mark."  
  
"So am I," he replied. "I love you Roger."  
  
Roger shook his head, looking down at his shoes. He looked up to find his earnest friend's eyes on him still. "You are such a better person than I am. I love you too Mark."  
  
They only looked at each other for a long minute and then at the same moment turned and began walking down the street, again finding words unnecessary.  
  
**  
  
Yes, very hard for me not to turn this into slash; I wanted to so badly! :) "It's a fill-in Jolie, a fill-in..." There's one chapter after this, which I hope I'll be able to post on one of my nights off. Bye!


	6. Chapter 6

Well, here it is. The end. More HappyMark, I'm tired of torturing him. I re-wrote the old final chapter that I wrote back in April or May tonight, so there may be some mistakes in it. I was just anxious to get it up. All comments are adored and appreciated!  
  
They're, as always, not mine..  
  
***  
  
Mark paused outside of Maureen's doorway, with his hand raised to knock. Being with Collins and Angel the last few days had made him realize the importance of his little family. So many circumstances had pushed them apart, and he wanted to help bring them back again. And, as much as Mark might want to avoid the fact now that he was actually standing outside her appartment, that included Maureen. There had been a heaviness in his heart every time he thought about her and all that had been left unsaid between them the last two months, and he needed to fix that.  
  
So Mark finally found the strength to knock on the door. Maureen looked up from the magazine she had been reading at the sound and walked toward the door, half hoping that it was Joanne. She looked through the peephole out into the hallway to find Mark standing there. She sighed and rested her head against the door, contemplating her next move. He didn't look angry, just uncertain, but Maureen realized that he probably knew she was standing behind the door, staring at him and thinking. If he wanted to patch things over, he had made the biggest step in coming here; the least she could do was let him in.  
  
"Hi," Mark said with a sight smile when Maureen's face appeared.  
  
"Hi," she replied. She didn't look particularly sad or tired, leaning against the doorframe, like she had before. There was a studied indifference in her eyes, but Mark knew better. She was still beautiful; no matter what Maureen would always be beautiful to him.  
  
"Can.. I come in?" he asked, knowing that the ball was in his court now, his responsibility.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Thanks," Mark replied, walking into her apartment and trying not to look as awkward as he felt. He fully suspected that he was failing miserably.  
  
"What's that?" Maureen asked, gesturing to the plastic bag in Mark's hand.  
  
"Ice-cream," he answered, handing it to her with a shrug. "I thought you might like some."  
  
Maureen took the bag toward the kitchen, and Mark drifted to the couch, this a familiar routine. Mark always brought ice-cream. Maureen paused while scooping at that thought, suddenly overcome with sadness, remembering the way things were when they were still good. She looked at him over the counter, like she had done a few nights ago, like she had done a million times before that. Mark had an insatiable sweet tooth and enough innocence still intact to believe that ice-cream could help smooth over any situation and heal any wounds.  
  
Maureen grabbed two spoons from a drawer and walked into her little living room. Handing a bowl to the silent filmmaker, she sank into a chair beside him. They both ate their ice-cream quietly, looking down into their bowls, the only sound in the room that of silver spoons clinking against Maureen's white and yellow Corelle.  
  
When Mark finally put down his bowl, not yet sure enough to look up and make eye contact, Maureen put her bowl down as well. She hadn't really been eating anyway, just fussing with the contents of her bowl, watching the ice-cream turn into a sugary kind of soup, waiting for him to speak.  
  
"Maureen.." he murmured, unsure of how to begin. She unconsciously tugged at her hair, and Mark realized that she was scared. Of what?  
  
"Well," he continued. "I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For the things I said, the way I left."  
  
Maureen sighed and covered her face with her hands. "No, you were completely justified in what you did. You shouldn't be apologizing to me. I had no right... I shouldn't have done that to you."  
  
He smiled. "You're forgiven."  
  
"Damnit Mark," she said, exasperated. "How can you do that? How can you forgive people so easily? What's to stop them from hurting you again?"  
  
"You won't do that Maureen," Mark replied, becoming suddenly serious. "You won't use me like that again, because next time I _won't_ come back, and you're too important to me to lose like that. I'm too important to you."  
  
"What does that mean?" Maureen asked, the assumption in his voice making her question icy.  
  
"What does it sound like it means?" Mark replied. "Jesus Maureen, you can't pretend that I don't mean anything to you forever."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yes! I know you better than that, much as you hate to admit it."  
  
She stood and snatched their bowls from the coffee table, hurt and angry and unable to meet his eyes anymore.  
  
"I don't love you anymore Mark," she said as flatly as she could, remembering his words from the night. They had barely stopped playing in her head since.   
  
"I know you don't," he replied quietly as she threw the bowls into the sink, making as much noise as she could while washing them. "I never even knew if you did in the first place."  
  
That was too much for her. Her anger crumbled as she choked back a sob, her hands slowly dropping from what they were doing to clutch at her stomach. Mark looked up from his clenched hands when the sound of Maureen's frustrated domesiticity stopped and saw her crying. Her eyes met his, and he recognized the look on her face. He stood, knowing she was about to run.   
  
"Maureen..." he said.  
  
"Oh God Mark," she replied, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Of course you didn't know, I never told you!"  
  
"It's alright Maureen," he said, working his way around the counter toward her. He lay his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay--"  
  
"It's not okay!" she retaliated, hitting his comforting hands away from her. "It's _not okay_!"  
  
She began to sob, slowly sinking down to the floor of the kitchen, crying to herself.  
  
"It's not okay. Why couldn't I tell you? Why couldn't I..."  
  
Mark sank down beside her, and slowly she let him put his arms around her until she rested her head against his chest. Somehow in that moment, Maureen finally realized what Mark really meant to her, finally realized what she meant to him, and she didn't ever want him to let go of her for it.   
  
"I loved you Mark," she whispered as he ran his hands soothingly over her arms. "I loved you so much. I think that's why I was so horrible to you sometimes."  
  
"You weren't that horrible," he said, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Most of the time."  
  
She laughed softly, but then became serious again. "Why couldn't I tell you? Why do I always push away everyone who cares for me?"  
  
"You're not going to get rid of me."  
  
"I'm going to end up alone Mark, who would want to be with me?" she asked, looking up into his face. "I'm such a bitch."  
  
"No! You're not. You're energetic and passionate and beautiful," he kissed her head. He paused. "But.. you know that you can do really awful things sometimes."  
  
"I know," she whispered.  
  
"Then why do you do it?" he asked. "You broke my heart Maureen, more than once, and you did it on purpose."  
  
She began to cry again and pressed herself closer to his chest. "I know. Mark, I'm so sorry, I don't know why I do what I do! I never wanted to hurt you..."  
  
Mark wanted to know why, but he knew he'd never get a satisfactory answer. And he suddenly didn't need one anymore. He had always mentally understood that Maureen was wrong for him, but he hadn't fully accepted it emotionally until now. So he just brushed her hair away from her face like he used to.  
  
"Mark?" Maureen questioned softly.  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
She bit her lip. "About what you said before..."  
  
"About my still loving you?"  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, surprised that he had said it.  
  
"Well," he said openly as he helped her up off of the floor. "I do still love you. I loved you practically from the first moment I saw you. But I'm getting over it. You're just going to have to give me a little time; you're one of those people that's kind of hard to get out of your system."  
  
She laughed, not quite bitterly but almost. "Like an infection."  
  
"Hardly," he returned. "I just.. I don't want to lose you as my friend Maureen. You drive me up the wall sometimes, but you're one of the best friends I've ever had. I've missed you these last few weeks."  
  
Maureen smiled. "I've missed you too."  
  
"No you haven't!" he laughed. "You've missed my electronic skills, but I'm sure you've had enough diversions to keep you from worrying about it too much."  
  
She punched at him. "Screw you!"  
  
"Would you please?"  
  
"I knew that's why you missed me!"  
  
He laughed and pulled her into a hug. "Seriously Maureen, I want us to be friends. For real, not in that break-up-lets-be-friends kind of way."  
  
She smiled. "I want that too."  
  
"Good, then it's a deal. You won't kiss me anymore, and I'll promise to fall out of love with you as soon as possible."  
  
_Just don't ever stop loving me Mark...  
  
_"More ice-cream?" she asked.  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
She laughed and gestured him toward the couch, picking up the bowls she thrown into the sink earlier.  
  
"You must think I'm crazy," Maureen said to Mark over the counter as she washed the old ice-cream from the bowls. "I think I've cried more these past few days than the last few years. I don't know what's wrong with me."  
  
"Art is suffering," Mark replied, flipping through the magazine on her coffee table. "It's all material for future roles."  
  
"Spoken like a true filmmaker."  
  
Mark laughed, shaking his head.   
  
"Maybe," he said to himself.  
  
Maureen pulled the chocolate ice-cream from the freezer, scooping until Mark's bowl was full. She knew he loved it, and he'd probably spent the only money in his pocket on it. She took a little for herself and began to return it.  
  
"Oh my God!" she said as she was putting the lid back on the container. "I completely forgot. This news reporter found one of my fliers by the lot and called me looking for information about the riot and how it started. He flipped when I told him that my friend had it all on tape. He wants to air the footage!"  
  
Mark looked up at her, his eyes wide and revealing. "Are you joking?"  
  
She shook her head, returning to the living room and handing him his bowl. "Nope. It was a few hours after you left. I went to the loft to look for you, but you weren't there and I didn't know where you had gone... hey, where did you go?"  
  
"Yeah, I know. I saw you," Mark replied absently, running his fingers through his hair.  
  
_My film, someone wants to put _my _film on television..._  
  
He corrected his thinking. It wasn't really a film; it wasn't something he had loved and created, just something he had observed, documented. But the thought was still exciting, that people would actually get to see something he had filmed. He had captured something meaningful that justified him having his camera constantly at his side.  
  
"Mark?" Maureen's voice divined his thoughts, though it was obvious from her tone that it wasn't the first time she had tried to get his attention. He looked up at her. "You zoned on me."  
  
He shook his head. "Sorry."  
  
"What do you mean you saw me?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "And where did you go? Where have you been?"  
  
"I was across the street from the loft when you came looking for me," he replied, his mind still not entirely with her. "I was watching you."  
  
"Oh," she said softly. He couldn't tell if she was hurt by that fact or if she understood why he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "And you've been...?"  
  
"Oh, I ran into Angel and Collins," Mark said. "I've been staying with them."  
  
Maureen blinked. "That's lucky."  
  
"Yeah." He saw no reason to tell her he had been homeless for a night. It would serve no purpose other than making her feel unnecessarily guilty.  
  
_Someone wants my film._  
  
"Have you talked to Joanne?"  
  
Maureen shook her head, eating a large spoonful of ice-cream.  
  
"I tried calling," she said, "but she didn't pick up."  
  
"Don't give up on her. She wants to be with you, I know she does, but you're going to have to give her a little time."  
  
"If you say so Mark, then I believe you." Maureen paused. "I really do care about her."  
  
"I know. Just makes sure she knows that too, okay?"  
  
She nodded. "I will. I'm going to be better, I swear."  
  
"Do you think you could give me her number?" Mark asked. "You know, in case I need any legal advise when it comes to my film."  
  
Maureen looked at him suspiciously, and he laughed. "I promise I will not talk about you."  
  
"I don't know if I like the idea of you two becoming friends," she said, "but okay. For the sake of your film, if nothing else."  
  
"Thanks Maureen," he replied as she reached to the kitchen counter behind her for a pad of paper and a pencil. "Oh hey, I forgot. We're having a New Year's Eve party, want to come?"  
  
"Who's we?" she asked, jotting down Joanne's office number and handing it to Mark.  
  
"Me, Collins, Angel, Roger, and Mimi," he said, pocketing the slip of paper. Joanne would be there too, if he had anything to say about it. "We're going to break back into our building."  
  
Maureen laughed. "How are you planning to do that?"  
  
"No clue. I leave the logistics to our anarchist friend. Want to come?"  
  
"Yeah!" she said. "What should I bring?"  
  
"Just your lovely, adorable self should be sufficient," Mark replied, standing. "I'd better get going."  
  
Maureen nodded and stood as well. She wrapped her arms around Mark's neck, and he held her closely for a long moment.   
  
"I really am glad you came here Mark," she said. "I'm glad you're my friend again."  
  
"Me too," he replied softly. "Want me to call you later? We can go get coffee or something?"  
  
"Sounds good," she said, opening the door for him. "Bye Mark."  
  
"See ya Maureen."  
  
When Mark reached the street, he headed toward Alphabet City where he knew Roger and Collins and Angel were waiting for him. Somehow everything that had fallen apart had come back together again, just like Angel had said it would. He realized as he was walking that he was happy, the happiest he had been in a long time. He had to remember this feeling, had to remember not to hide, to let people in. And he wasn't stupid, he realized that things wouldn't always be this easy. All he had to do was look at Collins or Angel or Roger or Mimi to know that there was lots of pain in the future, but he had to remember that if he wanted to love people he had to accept the pain that came along with it. And deep down - at least in that moment - he knew the truth.  
  
He was going to be okay.  


  
*  


  
_"Pan to the padlocked door. New Year's Rockin' Eve..."  
_  
  
-- the end  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
